Skinship
by inkbender
Summary: To pay for tearing down the bathhouse wall, the guys on the team have to find ways to save money... like share a bath together. But if the girls can do it, why can't they? Later chapters are rated M.
1. Chapter 1

"This is all stupid Ranta's fault."

Manato reaches back to ruffle Haruhiro's hair affectionately before returning to lock the bath door. "We were there too."

Haruhiro glances over at the ruined wall. Last night it had been an unremarkable barrier of plaster and mud with a hole for a window. Last night Ranta had sat on Mogzo's shoulders and put his full weight against it so he could peep in through said window (while Haruhiro and Manato had stood in the background and done _nothing_ incriminating). Today the girls were no longer on speaking terms with them and the hole had been boarded up with wood that _they_ had to pay for.

In short, the guys were running low on coppers. They had to be even more frugal with their money now, which meant less food and less bathing. Well, the food became less of an issue after Yume burned the breakfast eggs; she reluctantly asked Mogzo to resume cooking duties and provided the funds out of her own pocket.

But… baths. Personally, that is the hardest part. It just seems like something that should happen every day, right? This is all Ranta's fault, yet Haruhiro and Manato are paying for it. To add insult to injury, Ranta had promptly declared that Dread Knights are at their best covered in dirt and sweat and goblin blood and is currently snoring the night away.

Manato wraps an arm around Haruhiro and hugs him briefly. "Don't let Ranta get you down," he smiles. "We got a silver from today's goblin. We'll get more in the next couple days, and by next week we won't need to resort to doing this anymore."

This. This is what he and Manato have decided to do. Assuming they can take down a goblin every two or three days, Manato did some calculations and determined that the guys could, at Ranta's tenacious insistence, eat a little protein with every meal as long as they only took baths every other day. Haruhiro hadn't said anything, but Manato was amazing and picked up on his uneasiness anyways. He'd said that because their inn charged for bath time and not per person, they could easily bath every day if they shared the bath.

So that's why Haruhiro is currently in the bath room while Manato fills the large tub with steamy water. The tub is spacious enough to fit two people, maybe three if they squeezed together. If two people sat at opposite ends of the bath and stretched their legs out, their feet would brush against the other's thigh. But if they crossed their legs, there should be plenty of room. Yume and Shihoru had enough space to wash their hair and bodies last night without getting embarrassed, so it's not like two guys can't do the same, right?

Why is he so nervous? Why is his face so hot when Manato turns to face him?

"Eh…" Manato turns away. "Would you like to get in first? I won't look."

"Y-Yeah," Haruhiro says. He really does feel better when Manato isn't looking. Why? It's not like Manato hasn't seen a lot of him already. He's had scratches all over his abdomen, bloody gashes on his legs, injuries on his arms—all wounds that Manato handled with the gentlest hands right before he stitched them back up with white magic. Manato's eyes have been all over his body before. Why is Haruhiro so afraid now?

He's almost tempted to jump in the bath still wearing his underwear. The water might still be hot from the fire though, plus there are enough tears in the underclothing that it might not make a difference anyways. He covers his face with his hands. He's going to have to take it off.

Manato doesn't say a word. Manato might as well not be there at all, so Haruhiro takes a deep breath before shedding the garment. He skitters over to the tub and cautiously tests the waters. It is very hot, almost painfully so, but in his experience it cools down pretty fast so right now the temperature is almost perfect. It would be perfect if he wasn't so mortified. Manato could be staring at his naked butt right now. A paranoid glance over his shoulder tells him that Manato hasn't moved, but just the possibility is enough to make Haruhiro burn in shame.

No, stop. Stop being so paranoid. He steels his nerves and slips the rest of the way in, ignoring the searing heat that instantly works its way into his body. He freezes until his body readjusts to the new environment. "Okay, Manato."

"Alright," the other boy nods. Corded muscle ripples in his arms and abdomen as he sheds his shirt and pants in short order. It reminds Haruhiro of his decision back when Mogzo had been snatched up by Raghill and their party of five was trying to decide who should be the Warrior. Haruhiro had voted for Manato because he'd been the strongest then. But then Ranta threw a fit about being the cool and tough fighter and Manato had given it up to be the Priest instead. And then stupid Ranta changed his mind and became a Dread Knight without telling anybody… but that's getting off the point. From body type alone, Manato could have easily become a Warrior.

Manato takes off his undergarment and Haruhiro has been so busy thinking that he doesn't look away in time. The hot water doesn't even reach up past his armpits but his face and neck feel like they're burning. He would sink beneath the surface of the water if he could, but Manato's feet are sliding into the tub and don't look up _don't look up—_

He squeezes his eyes shut until Manato playfully nudges his foot into Haruhiro's thigh. "Am I really that ugly?" he teases.

"Ah, n-n-no! It's not like that!" Haruhiro forces himself to look in Manato's face. That lasts for all of two seconds before his eyes dip downwards. Manato's pectorals are so defined that there is a clear line down the center of his chest. The recently disturbed bathwater laps at his pert nipples. Haruhiro immediately shuts his eyes again. "I-I was just th-thinking… you should have been the Warrior."

"It's a good thing Ranta was so insistent, huh? And that we found Mogzo when we did." The other boy grins. "It all worked out in the end!" He sinks down into the bath with a contented sigh, which pushes his knees up and out of the water. If he were to stretch his legs, he might accidentally touch—

Haruhiro shuts down this train of thought instantly. Seeing that Manato's still waiting for an answer, he agrees quietly. Yeah, Mogzo does have the body for a Warrior, plus he's large and strong enough to actually swing around that massive bastard sword. But now that stupid Ranta's broken the bath room wall, they can't even afford the armor to actually cover Mogzo up so he can tank hits. With only leather guards as protection, he's just as vulnerable as the rest of them. If they didn't have Manato with them and calling out orders, Ranta would have an arrow up his butt and Ranta's demon would be making inappropriate jokes and Haruhiro might actually be okay with that, except he'd also be dead along with the rest of the team.

"You're still almost a tank though," Haruhiro insists. "You're up front almost as much as Mogzo and you use your staff to bash goblins over the head almost as much as you heal us." He sinks a little into the water and doesn't vocalize that he thinks those smash attacks are supposed to be defensive moves. But he's a Thief and not a Priest, and Manato uses the moves offensively and it's worked well within their team dynamic so far, so why stop?

"But I couldn't do that without you supporting me." Warm waves crash against Haruhiro's chest as Manato abruptly surges forward into a kneeling position. Sheets of water cascade off his sleek torso; droplets get caught in the ridges of his abdominals as he reseats himself in the space between Haruhiro's feet, causing Haruhiro to draw his legs up like a shield to cover his body.

"We work well because we work as a team," continues Manato. He's rubbed a little soap powder into a cloth so it forms a sudsy lather and is currently cleansing his body with it, sweeping up the grimy sweat that's accumulated under his arms and along the sides of his body. "You're able to cover areas I can't hope to reach, and I can do the same for you. In that way, we're stronger united than the each of us individually."

Mesmerized, Haruhiro watches as Manato's washcloth forms bubbly trails from the slender arch of his neck, past the meat of his shoulder and down the sinew of his forearm. He folds an arm behind his head to clean under the limb and inadvertently flexes his bicep; Haruhiro's eyes follow the soapy water that travel down his torso until they hit the water. The bubbles obscure everything beneath Manato's belly button, everything but a dark trail of hair that leads—

"Haruhiro?"

"H-H-Huh?" He was _not_ looking there. His eyes were closed. Still are closed!

"I can't reach my back. Can you cover that for me?" There's a wide grin on Manato's face, as if he's just made some grand analogy that Haruhiro didn't hear because he was too busy thinking of dirty things! Is this what the inside of Ranta's head is like? No wonder Ranta's so self-absorbed and insensitive! This is the worst! "Haruhiro?"

"Um, yeah!" He shifts until his back is straight. "What do you need me to do?"

Manato hands the cloth over. "Can you wash my back?"

Haruhiro eagerly accepts the washcloth. His heart stutters a little when, in turning around, Manato lifts his torso just a little too much. He can hear his own heartbeat but he doesn't think about it too much because the broad expanse of Manato's back is waiting and all he has to do is reach forward…

Manato's skin is smooth and warm. Haruhiro revels in the sensation of muscles shifting minutely under his fingertips.

"Harder."

"W-What?"

Manato's head turns slightly. He can hear the encouraging smile in the other boy's voice. "Gotta rub me a little harder if we're going to get the dirty stuff out."

Haruhiro blushes and applies a bit more pressure. This requires him to sit closer, and wow, he can actually feel Manato's body heat radiating onto the skin of his shins and inner thighs. He focuses on scrubbing until the other boy grunts in satisfaction. When he's gotten every area, he cups water in his hands and pours it over Manato's back—until Manato promptly leans back, his head practically landing in Haruhiro's lap, and submerges himself briefly.

"There we go!" Manato declares, seemingly oblivious of Haruhiro's furious blush. "Here, let me do you."

"Huh?" Did his voice just crack there? What is he, twelve?

"Turn around," urges Manato. He pretty much obeys out of habit. "I've got your back covered."

He still wants to object, but Manato's hands are just as gentle as when he heals wounds yet they move in swift and confident strokes that are never too rough. Actually, they feel pretty nice. Like, wow. It's like Manato is petting his entire back affectionately, it feels that nice. He doesn't realize he's leaning back into the touch until Manato chuckles.

He self-consciously scoots forward until Manato's fingers curl around his scrawny shoulders. "Wait," Manato protests, "I'm not done yet."

Haruhiro blushes. "You're not making fun of me?"

"Why would I do that? I'll be the first to admit that it can feel pretty comfortable." He splashes some water onto Haruhiro's backside. "Com'on, let me finish."

Slowly, Haruhiro relaxes back until he's within reach again. Manato scoots closer, even going so far as to stretch his legs on either side of Haruhiro. Haruhiro arches his back in pleasure when Manato's hands massage the deep muscle of his back. He slumps forward when fingers work circles around his tense shoulders. He gasps a little and grabs for the nearest steadying surface when Manato begins to knead his back, a strong yet gentle pressure that loosens muscles that've been taut all day. Slowly, over the course of the next few minutes, he becomes aware that his hands are wrapped around Manato's ankles and that he's been pulling Manato closer, so close that he can feel every breath upon his back. He feels warm even in the cooling water, safe within Manato's almost full embrace—

Three hard raps on the door break him of his reverie. "Oi!"

Haruhiro startles forward frantically, but Manato maintains his cool and replies, "Yes?"

It's the innkeeper. "You have two minutes left!"

Haruhiro's halfway out of the bath before Manato pulls him back down. "You still have soap on your body," he says. "I'll leave first. Then you'll have enough room to wash yourself off."

Haruhiro nods and Manato smiles. Then he turns and clambers out of the tub and Haruhiro's left staring at his naked butt and the flaccid—

He ducks himself underwater and wills himself to drown or otherwise disappear. Hopefully before the bathwater is reboiled by the strength of his blush.

* * *

As if his days could become any stranger, Yume talks to him again the next morning.

"Yume wants to say that she forgives you."

He's not sure if he's heard right. "Eh?"

Yume refuses to make eye contact with him. There's a slight flush to her cheeks, though he's not even sure why. "Yume says we're even now! You too, Manato!"

Haruhiro jumps when Manato's hand lands on his shoulder. "What's this?" grins Manato.

Yume turns a smile upon them that is so brilliant that Haruhiro has to squint underneath its power. "Yume can't speak for Shihoru, but Yume is sure Shihoru feels the same way."

She's gone faster before he can ask what she's talking about.

Manato is still smiling though, so it must be a good thing, right?

* * *

 _A/N: Three chapters total, with subsequent chapters getting increasingly dirtier ;)_

 _Though we all know how this is going to end._


	2. Chapter 2

"Have you been out drinking again?"

Manato freezes on the threshold as if he's been caught guilty-handed. "Haruhiro…"

Haruhiro's not mad. His face just looks like this. His eyes sort of slant downward all the time, so people assume he's tired or grumpy or something. He's tired of others making that mistake, so he doesn't use the excuse; he just offers Manato a cup of tea. "Here."

Manato smiles and accepts the mug. "Thanks, Haru."

His heart warms at the nickname, then flutters a little when Manato slides onto the bench next to him until their hips touch and their knees knock against each other. This close, he can smell warm musk and beer and a slight tinge of… floral perfume? "Was it really hot at the pub?"

"Eh?" Manato swallows a gulp of boiling water and doesn't flinch. "Why do you ask?"

"Um… You're sweating."

"So I am." Manato bumps shoulders with him but looks in another direction. It's a little strange. Haruhiro has gotten used to friendly smiles and direct eye contact whenever they talk. "I guess it was. But more importantly, based off the information I got at Shelly's Tavern, I think it's time that we change hunting locations."

Haruhiro is definitely listening. "But we still can't fight more than one mud goblin at a time."

"That's true. But there's a section of the abandoned city of Damuro that houses many loner or homeless goblins. The goblins of these ruins are exiles and travel alone and best of all, they won't help the others. We'll meet a lot more single goblins in the ruins than in the forest."

"You found that out all after a night of drinking?" He is very impressed. But then again, Manato is very easy to talk to. He's not afraid to be friendly and personal. Even now he's leaning casually against Haruhiro. The physical contact may not affect Manato, but Haruhiro's heart rate has been elevated for a few minutes now and he's a little breathless and the three points of contact—shoulder, hip, and knee—all tingle with the giddy sensation of touch.

Manato isn't looking at him again. "There's a little more to it, but basically. Yes."

Haruhiro forces a laugh. "Maybe we should wait until after you go to the bar tomorrow." His eyes light up as an idea pops into his head. "You should take me! I've wanted to—"

"NO."

Haruhiro breaks all points of contact as he flinches away at Manato's unexpected forcefulness. "W-What?"

Manato's harsh expression softens instantly. "I'm sorry, Haru. I didn't mean to sound so…" He ruffles a hand through his silky hair. "Sorry."

"It's fine," he says. "I might not be old enough."

"That isn't it." Manato throws back another mouthful of scalding hot water. "Anybody can go to Shelly's whenever they want. Just… maybe not after midnight."

He trusts Manato, so he doesn't ask why.

* * *

Relocating to Damuro was a great decision. It is absolutely true that most goblins here travel alone or in pairs. Here and there are a few large packs, but they're loud and easy to spot from Haruhiro's frequent scouting ventures. Better yet, he can actually put his lockpicking skills to use here; many of the still-functional houses have a goblin resting within, which means easy Vices for Ranta.

They're settling down for a quick lunch within the shelter of an abandoned building when Ranta abruptly dumps his pouch of Vices in front of Yume. "Look at that and weep, Flat-Chest!"

Yume shies away from the bloody ears that land on her feet with a little screech. "That's disgusting! Why did you have to show that to Yume?"

"How many goblins have you ended, hm? _Hmm?_ Com'on, I'm the only one doing any of the killing here!"

"It's only because Mogzo's so nice and lets you steal the kills for those Vices," says Yume hotly, kicking the severed ears back at Ranta.

"Three of those were napping," Haruhiro feels the need to point out. "I'm the one that found them."

"Finding them means nothing if you don't have the balls to kill them!" Ranta correctly predicts his protest and interrupts before he can vocalize it. "You don't have to come back and report every time! All you have to do is grow a pair and stab them right _here_." He mimes shoving a dagger into Haruhiro's heart. Haruhiro slaps his hand away crossly and looks to Manato for support.

"I certainly appreciate that Haruhiro keeps us updated on our surroundings," Manato responds with an easy smile. "It helps the entire party when we're more familiar with the area. He's helping you collect your Vices too, Ranta. Haru's the best one for the job."

There's a slight pause as the team processes this. Then Yume exclaims, "Can Yume call you Haru too?"

Haruhiro rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "Uh… sure…"

There are stars in Yume's eyes. Her breasts shift when she leans forward abruptly, her face practically next to his as she coos, "Haruuu~! I like it. It just rolls off the tongue."

She smells like fresh soap. They've been sweating underneath the sun and there are speckles of goblin blood on her outfit from when she cross-slashed a goblin that really wanted to take him down—and Yume still smells nice, like soap. He cowers under her soapy assault, forcing his eyes to _not_ look down her front. He will not be Ranta.

"It's about time we head out," Manato says cheerfully. Haruhiro internally sighs in relief as they pack up, ready for another couple rounds of goblin slaying.

* * *

More goblins. More blood. Worse, Ranta yelled at him for being defenseless and weak. Haruhiro has never been so irritated in his life—the few weeks that he remembers, at least. It tires him just _looking_ at Ranta, never mind speak with him.

He's definitely ready for tonight's bath. He's adjusted over the past week about sharing the tub with Manato. The first few days he couldn't even touch Manato without his nerves spontaneously bursting into song and dance. He spent so much time squeezing his eyes shut just so he didn't see anything inappropriate, yet at the same time he wanted to marvel at the strength that was literally right at his fingertips.

And while it's still true now, at least his heart doesn't stop every time. He's getting used to the experience of another unclothed body so close to his. Manato's been working some massage into their backwashing sessions. It works like a charm for loosing up tensed muscles. Plus reciprocating the activity is one of the few ways Haruhiro knows to express his gratitude in a meaningful way.

Haruhiro strips and slips in first, wincing at the temperature before signaling his okay to Manato. He discreetly watches as Manato tugs his shirt over his head, square pectorals stretching into tight trapezoids, lengthened abdominals returns to shape as the shirt comes off. Fingers loosen the drawstring of his pants and prompt Haruhiro to hurriedly stare at the wall.

"Oh… that feels good," Manato groans, sliding into the tub without flinching at the heat. He stretches his legs out all the way and Haruhiro is slightly proud that he doesn't flip out when toes strike the flesh of his inner thigh. Alas, his nerves cannot be held back when Manato doesn't move. Manato's foot is practically in his crotch and his crotch is reacting, getting all stiff… what is this feeling? He shifts uncomfortably and Manato seems to realize his error because he pulls his legs away almost immediately and crosses them beneath him.

Manato soaps himself up almost right away. Haruhiro watches quietly as Manato drags the washcloth over his arms and torso, giving his body a smooth glow that brings every expanse and groove of muscle into sharp relief. White foam dribbles off his chin; bubbles congregate at the hard edge between the water and his waist and are caught up on the dark line of hair trailing under his belly button.

Haruhiro can feel his heartbeat pulsing beneath his own belly button. …Why is that?

Manato presents his back and Haruhiro dutifully moves forward. This part he knows well: scrubbing hard at first to remove the scummy dirt, then slowing into a hard press of fingers into the flesh of Manato's broad back. At times he has to put his entire weight into it, just to reach some of the muscles hidden deep between Manato's shoulders. It's almost like fighting, like throwing his body forward into a sharp jab, except instead of a dagger it's his own blunt hands, and it's not a goblin but Manato that _moans_ in bliss.

He's really putting his all into hitting this one sweet spot that produces some beautiful sounds from between Manato's lips, even lifting his hips out of the water to gain just the right leverage, when his Thief's ears pick up a feminine gasp that does _not_ belong to the man beneath him. His head automatically swivels in the sound's direction before his mind is actually aware of it, so he's really surprised to find himself looking behind at the boarded-up wall. Why would his brain go there? The fix was rushed, so there _are_ cracks between the wooden panels—

"That was _fantastic_ , Haru," says Manato. He's turned around while Haruhiro wasn't looking, his shoulders and pectorals glistening with soap he hasn't washed off yet. "You're getting very good."

"Oh," he mumbles. "Thanks."

Manato beckons him over. "Here, I'll do you now."

"But I haven't…"

"I'll do it for you," Manato says. He moves forward, his legs bracketing Haruhiro's body. "Just turn around and relax."

Hesitantly, Haruhiro swivels until he's facing away. Manato begins like any other night, rubbing the washcloth in smooth circles on his backside. However, instead of staying in the same area, Manato soon wraps his arms around Haruhiro's torso and pulls him up against his chest. He exhales shakily at the distinct sensation of two firm nipples pressing into his skin. Manato dips his head into the crook of Haruhiro's neck and hushes him quietly, just holding him close.

"Haru?" Manato murmurs. His breath is hot against Haruhiro's neck.

"Manato…" There is a tightness between his legs that he can't ignore anymore. He'd forgotten about its presence during Manato's massage session, but now there's nothing to distract him…

He shudders as Manato begins to move again, hands full of frothy suds that he rubs gently over Haruhiro's chest. A breathy whimper, soft and low, escapes Haruhiro when featherlight fingers tease his nipples. "A-Ah, Ma…" he sighs. Manato rolls a sensitive nipple between his thumb and forefinger, but it's the presence between Haruhiro's legs that responds intensely. He instinctively spreads his legs wider to accommodate it and Manato rumbles low, his lips pressed into the side of his neck. "M-Ma-Manato!"

Haruhiro cries out, just a little, when Manato begins to nibble at the sensitive skin there. He silences himself quickly—what if he draws unwanted attention?—but keeps his mouth open, panting and gasping, as gentle hands slide up the other side to his neck and into his hair. He tilts his chin up in response and trembles as Manato continues to work, one hand massaging the muscle of his breast and the other, fingers threaded through his hair, pulling his head back to expose more of his neck.

He feels beyond bare, beyond naked. He feels vulnerable and exposed, yet he also feels entirely secure under Manato's full protection. He's trembling and shaking and begging but at the same time ostentatiously proud. _Look at me_ , he wants to say. _Look at all of me. You have that._

As if he's heard, Manato spreads his legs slightly. Haruhiro nestles his way back until he's flush up against Manato, encapsulated on all sides by firm muscle. Manato is so close that they're breathing each other's air, hot and heavy and in perfect synchronization. The pressure of Manato's inner thighs girdling his hips, the strong chest behind him, the fingers tenderly working his flesh, the steamy water lapping at his belly—he can't help but moan softly, a thin and breathy, "Ma… _Manato_."

"Look at that," Manato hums. He _feels_ Manato's voice in shoulder blades and neck as Manato's hands travel downward to trace the sinew of his right forearm and leaves tiny bubble trails in the grooves of muscle there. "Look at all of that. You built that in just two weeks."

He has some trouble refocusing his attention on normal conversation. "Not as much as you," Haruhiro mumbles drowsily.

Manato chuckles. "Me? No way. I haven't come as far as you have."

"Only because you were already stacked." Wait, was that too forward?

"So I had an unfair advantage," Manato laughs again. "But Haru, just look at you." He maneuvers his head until it's resting on Haruhiro's other shoulder and switches to Haru's left limb. Turning the hand so that the palm is facing up, Manato traces the veins standing out on the underside of his left forearm. "Your left side is just as muscled as your right. You're ambidextrous, aren't you?"

"Ambi-wha?"

"You wield your dagger with both hands, right?"

"…Yeah. Whichever side is unguarded."

"See, that's just one of many reasons why I need you," says Manato roughly. Both hands abruptly plunge into the water to lift one of Haruhiro's legs into sight.

Haruhiro shouts and braces his hands against Manato's thighs to his slippery slide down Manato's still-soapy torso. "Hey!"

"Check this out!" Manato crows, slapping Haruhiro's calf. "These used to be sticks before you began reconnaissance for us. Don't think I didn't see you leaping down from a second-story house today. Anybody else would break their legs trying to jump from that height."

"I just roll when I hit the ground," he says.

"But this." Manato presses his palms into Haruhiro's thigh and shakes it. "All this muscle here is what absorbs the shock and cushions your bones when you first slam into the dirt."

"You could do the same."

"Most definitely not. I don't have the groin muscles to handle that strain." He grips Haruhiro's waist to demonstrate and Haruhiro freezes because Manato is straying _dangerously_ close to a presence that had been growing more and more insistent…

"But yours…" he struggles. "Yours… are probably… b-bigger than…"

"In real life, it's not just the size of your muscle. The strength of your heart and mind is just as important. I don't have the reflexes to duck and tumble, but you already _knew,_ even before you became a Thief. That's all you." Manato's tone has dropped with every word. His hands slide down his hip bones until his forefingers touch soft pubic hair, his thumbs meeting at Haruhiro's belly button. His final sentence sends tremors through Haruhiro's body. "Can…" He clears his throat, a rumble that reverberates through Haruhiro. "Can I?"

His heart is racing. He has to gasp through an open mouth just to take up oxygen, yet he's still sinking, sinking into Manato's embrace. _Look at me. You have all of this_. "Manato…"

"Just say no," he murmurs.

Haruhiro feels like pure energy trapped within an iron cage. His hips buck uselessly against stalwart limbs and his back heaves against a powerfully muscled torso. "Manato, just… just do it. Yes."

Fingers curl around the base of his fully erect cock and he cries out, loud and brash and uncaring. Manato's other hand snaps up instantly and covers his mouth. Warm water splashes all over his face and trickles down the tightened fibers of Haruhiro's entire body as he strains around the focal point of Manato's fist and his own aching desire. Manato keeps him ground, holds him down so he doesn't soar up into the crimson moon above.

Pure energy explodes through him as Manato begins to pump him in slow, measured strokes. He whimpers into Manato's hand and thrusts his hips forward until Manato growls low and squeezes the base of his cock in warning. Stars explode in the darkness behind his eyelids as he complies, forcing his body to stop shivering in anticipation. Something else wants to explode out of him but can't, not when Manato is squeezing him so tightly. When he opens his mouth to beg, Manato simply shoves two fingers under his tongue.

"Mmn'to," he mumbles. He forces his tongue between the fingers, forcing them to apart. His hips bounce backward, egging Manato onward—and he _feels_ it the moment Manato responds: a hard tip emerging from the crotch to push into Haruhiro's backside. Encouraged, he bucks back into Manato eagerly, pressing himself flush against the boy behind until he begins to move again. But gone is the calculated control of earlier; Manato pumps Haruhiro almost frantically, his scalding breath heavy in Haruhiro's ear.

The pressure within Haruhiro is almost unbearable, not with Manato's speed and power. But he can't, not when Manato has just started. He tries to hold it back, tries to push even harder against Manato, tries to hold his breath and keep in a scream. But Manato thrusts forward and cries, " _Haru_ ," into his ear with such rough neediness that it sets off a chain reaction he can't stop. He hisses Manato's name as he releases. Maybe he doesn't say anything at all. Maybe it's just bliss condensed into a single suppressed note uttered until he runs out of breath, runs out of energy, and slumps into something relaxing and pleasantly warm in his belly.

All in all, the moment can't have lasted more than a couple minutes; yet he feels spent and sleepy and thoroughly covered in a strange mixture of dried soap rehydrated with sweat. He revels in the rise and fall of Manato's chest behind him, in the full skinship of their bodies, and wishes this could last for a couple more minutes.

Three raps on the bathroom door. "Two minutes!" shouts the innkeeper.

Haruhiro lurches forward, followed quickly by a recoil so violent that it gives him whiplash, but there's stringy white gunk floating in the water between his legs and, and is that, did that come—?

A laugh bubbles from Manato. "Hold on, I've got this…" Without so much as even a blink, he scoops up Haruhiro's cum with a hand and rises from the bathtub. Water splatters from his body all over Haruhiro as he deposits the sticky white residue in the trash.

"Manato…" Haruhiro blushes. "I…"

Manato crouches by the bath and places a hand on Haruhiro's shoulder. "Are you feeling alright?"

He suddenly looks uncertain, an appearance that is unbecoming of their leader. Haruhiro is quick to set that right. "No! That was… It was…" He's having a hard time with words right now, so he simply shifts to a position where he can press his forehead against Manato's. "Thank you, Manato."

Manato pulls him into a hug. "I should be the one thanking you."

* * *

Manato doesn't look like he's gotten an ounce of sleep the next morning. Haruhiro is troubled but unsure if he should mention it. What if it's because of what they did last night?

"Ehhh? Yume smells something really nice!" Yume flits past him, morning hair still askew. "Manato, is that you?"

Manato grins, absolutely unfazed when she leans in close and sniffs at his neck. "Is it me?"

"You smell like pink flowers!" exclaims Yume, and for a split second, something akin to fear rises in Manato's eyes.

"Really?" He's back to smiling and Haruhiro wonders if he'd just imagined it.

"Does the tavern normally smell like flowers? Ooh, Yume really wants to join you now!"

The pub again. Manato is spending late nights at the pub. Does it really take that much time to gather information? Manato really shouldn't need to shoulder that burden alone if he's losing sleep over it. If… If only Haruhiro was confident in his own interpersonal skills. But… But maybe if he and Yume were to go together with him…

"Why not?" Manato says easily. "If you don't mind parting with a couple coppers, I think we should be able to go after dinner. What do you say, Haru?"

Haruhiro startles, a blush already rising in his cheeks at the name call. "M… Manato?"

Yume squeals. "Haru~! Let's go!"

There's still something in Manato's eyes that he can't decipher. Like he's not seeing the full story here. But if Manato is so willing to show him what goes on at Shelly's, then... "Y-Yeah. I've wanted to see this place for a while."

He's going to help Manato one way or another, but he has to find out first just what their leader is doing... so Haruhiro is taking two trips to Shelly's Tavern tomorrow.

One after dinner... and one after midnight.

* * *

 _A/N: An actual plot, what? Because it seems I am unable to write smut only -_-_

 _The next chapter will definitely change this story to an M-rating. Stay tuned!_


	3. Chapter 3

"I kind of feel like I'm not the kind of person people usually treat as a friend."

* * *

What did Manato mean when he said that? It's not something Haruhiro can take at face value. How could people _not_ like Manato at first sight? He's smart, easy to talk to, an amazing guy who makes people feel just as amazing. Just going to the bar with Manato and Yume is enough evidence of this.

The bar… is loud.

Or maybe that's just Kikkawa.

"Oi, Haru-chan! Why are you hiding back there? Do you need another drink? Oh, haven't finished your current one? Gotta drink more, man! Com'on, pick up the pace!"

Kikkawa smells like beer. Kikkawa embodies the aroma of the tavern: sweat and dirt and the bitter tang of alcohol. Contained within him is all the energy the bar will ever need. Just watching Kikkawa in action makes Haruhiro tired.

Manato adapts easily though. He matches Kikkawa's excitement. He even modifies the tone of his voice and his vocabulary to better engage his companion, saying things like _bro_ and _totally_ just because Kikkawa uses them. And when Manato sees how Haruhiro shies under Kikkawa's pressure, he punches Kikkawa lightly in the shoulder. "Yo, Kikkawa! You never finished telling me about that one time you and that one lady friend ambushed orcs by hiding in a herd of cows…"

"Oh!" Yume says enthusiastically. She isn't having any trouble talking either. Haruhiro is the only one who can't talk just for fun. "Did you get to juice a cow?"

"Cow juice, yum," Kikkawa laughs. "I think you mean milk?"

"Milk?" Yume looks down into her drink. "But I thought I ordered juice…"

Maybe it's because Yume and Kikkawa are both so airheaded, so they can easily engage with each other. That's what Haruhiro thinks for two seconds before he shuts that mean thought down. Instead, he just smiles gratefully at Manato before continuing to nurse his mug. The beer isn't too bad; he could see himself becoming used to the flavor, maybe even enjoying it. But from this situation alone, Haruhiro can tell that Manato doesn't come here because he likes the drink. Even now he is gathering information from Kikkawa—interesting tidbits on typical orc behavior and war tactics, and how Kikkawa functions in his role as a Warrior when his only companion is a vulnerable civilian.

Haruhiro would have never thought to even think of these kind of things. He's still learning how to hold his dagger right, how to twirl its hilt to shift from forward to reverse grip without using his other hand, yet Manato is already learning how to best navigate the nature of this strange world—and doing it even in the middle of deceptively casual conversation.

Is this what Manato does late into the early morning? The night is still young and the people currently within it are also young. When Haruhiro looks around, many of the faces he sees are free of blemishes or scars, and their eyes are bright and full of energy. For someone like Haruhiro, a wallflower who has honed his sense of observation, it's almost easy to pick out the older fighters in the crowd—the ones in darker corners, the ones whose eyes are heavy and look mostly downward. They have more valuable experiences, it would seem… but from Manato's perspective, he might want to wait until later in the night, when they've had a few more drinks, before approaching them for conversation. If that's how Manato thinks. Maybe.

Haruhiro doesn't actually know anything though. But maybe that's what Manato is doing during those late nights.

Maybe.

* * *

Maybe it was all of that Kikkawa Energy. Maybe it was the alcohol. Manato says there are several kinds of reactions that people have when they drink more beer than they're used to. Yume is the giggly Happy Drunk. Haruhiro is the Sleepy Drunk. Manato cheerfully educates him on the seven general archetypes of drunk people as he practically carries Haruhiro and Yume out of Shelly's Tavern and back to the inn.

Haruhiro passes out the moment he hits the hay, so he never gets to ask what kind of drunk Manato is.

* * *

Ranta's the Hungry Drunk.

When Ranta needs his meat, _HE NEEDS IT NOW_.

This ends up being a good thing on this particular night, because it forces Haruhiro to stay up much later than their usual bedtime. In lieu of returning to the inn and awakening a slumbering Mogzo, Ranta, Haruhiro, and Manato are forced to scrounge around town for food stalls that are still open at this hour. The aroma of sizzling protein snaps Haruhiro out of his listless drowsiness. By the time they've returned to their bunks to rest for the night, Haruhiro doesn't pass out immediately. His mind buzzes warmly with the satisfaction of roasted meat, and while his breathing evens out and his body settles for unconsciousness, he's still aware of his surroundings.

He notices instantly when Manato climbs out of his top bunk.

 _Not after midnight._

It is most definitely after midnight. Searching for an open stall had taken an eternity, but Ranta had been insistent (and drunk) and Haruhiro had quickly decided that the fastest way to silence Ranta's potty mouth was to stuff it with food.

For several minutes, Haruhiro can't force himself to move. Maybe Manato just went to the bathroom. Maybe he's eating an apple. He didn't bother putting on a jacket, so he must not be going anywhere important.

Increasing doubts whirl about his mind as the minutes drag on. Five. Ten. Fifteen minutes. Manato had to have gone somewhere… but where?

Does Haruhiro absolutely have to know?

Doesn't he trust Manato?

And there's the fact that Manato specifically told him not to go to Shelly's.

 _Anybody can go to Shelly's whenever they want. Just… maybe not after midnight._

Well, maybe not specifically… but his tone made it pretty clear that Manato didn't want him there. He gathers information about this world and its monsters, picks up strategies from other teams, does everything by himself… Why can't he accept a little help? Why won't he let Haruhiro help him?

 _I kind of feel like I'm not the kind of person people usually treat as a friend._

But Haruhiro does. If someone was to ask Haruhiro that as a question, there's not a doubt that he would instantly answer _Absolutely. Manato is the best of friends. I would do anything and everything for him._

And that's what finally convinces Haruhiro to slip out of bed.

* * *

He takes a moment to change into a stripped version of his combat gear. No weapons or leather guards; nothing but the sleek muscle shirt and form-fitting pants to reduce his generated noise. He thinks he hides in the shadows pretty well.

Manato is just leaving Shelly's when Haruhiro arrives. He's still not wearing a jacket and isn't carrying his stave, so he can't be going out of town… but he's certainly headed in that direction. Cautiously, Haruhiro tails his team leader, wishing he'd at least brought a dagger. Maybe. For safety.

That minor fear is relieved when, at the outskirts of town, Manato veers off the path and makes a beeline straight towards a rather large mansion.

The house is certainly well-built, with walls created of delicate patterned paper and strong beams of wood. There are even decorative bushes scattering the lawn, each peppered with little pink flowers. It's a far cry from their shoddy inn, with windows as holes in earthen walls so weak that it would collapse under the weight of one boy.

Manato walks up to a side door confidently even though the house is completely dark. He doesn't knock; instead, he procures a key from a necklace around his neck and promptly lets himself in. Manato doesn't wear necklaces. Hadn't been wearing one hours ago. He probably picked it up at Shelly's.

The side door slides shut. It's as if Manato was never there.

Haruhiro is at a loss. Does this house belong to the owner of the tavern? Why would Manato want to visit… Shelly… or whoever the pub's owner is, this late at night?

And most importantly… should he follow? Should he stay back?

Tavern owner or not, whoever owns this house is very rich or influential… and Manato walked right in like he frequents the place. Has he been visiting this house instead of going to the tavern? Haruhiro feels like he knows Manato better than anybody else in their party, if solely because they've spent at least fifteen minutes every night for the past two weeks pressed up against each other in the bath, talking about everything and nothing.

But none of the important things, it seems.

One thing's for sure: Haruhiro won't find anything out by sitting here. He can't see anything from this distance. But…even though Master Barbara drilled into his thick skull during his Training From Hell week that the Thief Class prided deception and subterfuge above all else, he can't bring himself to approach the house. Spying on Manato just feels wrong. Manato is his team leader. They only work as a team because they trust him to call the shots.

Yet he's sneaking out in the middle of the night to come here.

He forces himself to his feet before his mind can keep running in tight little circles. Some things just have to be done. Thinking won't change anything. He focuses his entire attention on moving quietly, like a shadow flitting along the surface of the ground. Like a Thief sneaking upon a house.

His movement is quiet enough to mask his presence, but not enough to avoid stirring up the air around the pink flower bushes and kicking a familiar floral scent into the atmosphere.

 _Manato…_

The front door is made of the same delicate paper. Now that he's so close, he can actually see the design—swirling clouds, dancing waves, and snow-capped mountains. He's awestruck; each wall is also a floor-to-ceiling painting of infinite beauty. Though it might as simple as tearing paper to break into this house (there must be some form of reactive magic or protective charm), it would also be the despicable destruction of a priceless work of art.

He can sense just by looking at the keyhole that deciphering its mechanism will be very difficult. Yet… he's very surprised to find they're already set. Manato forgot to relock the door.

Quietly, Haruhiro edges the entrance open. He freezes when it squeaks ever so slightly; to his sensitive ears, it might as well have been a screaming herald announcing the presence of a low-level Thief. But nobody comes running and soon Haruhiro is inside the house.

Nothing could have prepared him for the inside. The floor is made of a sleek, polished wood. More walls separate the spacious floor into separate rooms. Yet still the house is dark; surely if Manato is conversing with the owner of this house, they would have bothered to light a candle to see each other's faces, no? He strains his ears for the slightest bit of sound.

There… in the back of the house. Soft breathing occasionally punctuated by a grunt.

He should leave. There is a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach that whatever is going on here is forbidden and should not be witnessed. Yet it is this same illegitimacy that draws him deeper into the darkness of the house, further and further until he spies moonlight slipping through the tiny crack of a sliding door left slightly ajar.

Each footstep is as loud as the heart pounding in his ears. Stifling silence still blankets the house. What is Manato doing? Haruhiro moves forward, inch by inch, until he reaches the crack in the door.

Brilliant moonlight spills through a wide open window and illuminates Manato's undressed body as vividly as if it were daytime. Lying on his back like that on a spread of blankets and pillows upon the floor, arms tosses casually above his head and legs spread open casually, it's almost as if he's inviting someone to touch him, to use him. His eyes are half-lidded; his tongue glistens as he opens his mouth and gasps once, a high and breathy moan that draws a growl from the other presence in the room.

Haruhiro freezes the second his eyes land upon the Crimson Moon's commanding officer. The house belongs to the most important man in Altana. And this… this is what Manato does… He gulps, and the sound of his throat closing in on itself reverberates in his ears like a clap.

Brittany does not react. Fully clothed and seated upon a chair at the other end of the room, Brittany only has eyes and ears for Manato. With Manato's second husky groan, Haruhiro's eyes and ears are quick to follow. Manato's hands are as graceful and gentle now on his own body as they are on the battlefield; he palms his pectorals in a slightly feminine gesture that is offset by the bulge of biceps, the glint of stubble on his chin, the cords in his throat as he exposes his pale neck and releases a low, needy sigh.

He plants his feet into the cushions, spreads his knees to display his limp member, and rolls his hips upward. The roll ripples up his torso, contracting muscle as it travels to his shoulders. He uses his elbows to stabilize himself, though his fingers remain upon his chest to pinch and molest his nipples. His cries increase in volume with every tweak, every caress, every sudden pull; he genuinely seems to enjoy playing with his own chest, judging from the quality of his voice as he sheds his inhibitions and allows himself to grow bolder.

It isn't just his mind responding; when Manato thrusts his hips into the sky again, his length finally has enough presence to bounce. Just a little, but it catches Haruhiro's eyes nevertheless. Manato doesn't even need to travel beneath the belt to arouse himself… or Haruhiro for that matter.

Um… Haruhiro's erections have usually happened within the context of the bathtub where everything hangs loose, but now he's wearing pants and wow this is really uncomfortable. Cautiously, he raises himself into a squatting position that loosens the cloth around his crotch. Unfortunately, this also requires him to devote more mental activity to maintaining his balance and less towards watching, but that might just have to be a necessary evil.

He refocuses his attention back onto Manato just as the other boy lifts one of his hands. While one hand remains to massage his chest, the other slips fingers into his own mouth. He licks them lasciviously, using his tongue to coat them liberally in spittle. Last week, the first time Manato had pumped him dry of cum, Manato had stuck his fingers in Haruhiro's mouth. Is this what he'd expected Haruhiro to do? There's so much he doesn't kn—

Manato's wet fingers are trailing back down his body, down between his legs. He avoids his own partially firm shaft and travels even further south; every abdominal is put to work as he curls his body upward to accommodate for the length of his arm until his fingers reach their destination.

Haruhiro wrinkles his brow when Manato inserts two fingers into himself. It takes a moment for him to suspend his disbelief, but that's easily taken care of when Manato strikes an unseen spot in the space between his legs that reduces his body into a shivering, trembling mess. He does it again. He thrusts into himself again, barely suppresses a quivering moan again, and all the while his erection thickens and lengths and reddens in the silver moonlight.

Seeing his leader undoing himself like this starts off a dozen reactions in Haruhiro that he can't anticipate. His heart audibly races in his ears. Heat drains away from his face to pool between his legs. His mouth floods with saliva yet he is suddenly so very thirsty. His brain isn't running at full capacity and, abruptly and without warning, some of his wobbly leg muscles decide to quit working. He has very little balance in his currently crouching position and is toppling over before he knows it. The dull thud of his butt hitting the ground might as well have been a thunderclap. The entire house rings with the dead silence that precedes a storm.

And storm it does. White light blinds Haruhiro as the door is yanked open but is followed quickly by dark shadow with such lethal killing intent that Haruhiro can't help but whimper, "Manato! Help!"

Manato is there instantly, shielding him from sight. Haruhiro cowers into Manato's bare chest, terrified—what is Manato doing why is he with the commander is the commander going to kill him why is he so weak and cowardly and stupid but why would Manato do this why—

"Just another reject in your merry band of misfits, you say?" Brittany rumbles. "How did he get in?"

"He's my Thief."

"A mighty fine one he must be to get through that lock so easily. Head up, kiddo. What's your name?"

Manato shifts away but hugs him close with an arm. He represses the urge to move back into Manato's shadow. "H… Haruhiro."

"Loosen up, Manato. I'm not going to hurt him." Brittany pushes a hand through his hair and sweeps his bang to the side. The indigo-streaked lock of hair immediately returns to its previous position covering his right eye, so only his left eye sweeps over Haruhiro appraisingly. "Well well well, Haruhiro. If you were a member of Crimson Moon, I'd let you off with just a warning. Maybe even an invitation." He licks his top lip slowly. Manato's arm tightens around Haruhiro. "But! As is now, you're a complete stranger to me, little lamb, and a criminal. And as commander of the reserve force here, I cannot let you go unpunished."

Something wicked gleams in the commander's eyes. Manato stands abruptly. Even wearing absolutely nothing, he radiates authority. "Leave him alone, Brittany. I'll do anything."

"What kind of man do you take me for?" says the commander. "Though your offer is deliciously enticing…"

 _No!_ Haruhiro wants to yell. But in reality, his body isn't even strong enough to stand and his lungs rebel against him. He can only stare wide-eyed at Manato's backside until Brittany pulls Manato flush against his own body; then Haruhiro's eyes return to the smooth wooden floor as the commander inspects him.

"Just look at him, kitten," Brittany croons. "So adorably pathetic. He hasn't had his cherry popped yet, has he?"

A blush rises to his cheeks, even if he doesn't know what it means.

Brittany trails his forefinger down Manato's chest until it lands upon his length. Then he points the same finger at Haruhiro and curls it once in a beckoning gesture. "Up, up, Haruhiro. How long have you been here?"

Haruhiro forces himself to look up at the pink-haired man. Brittany is smiling, and though he can't detect any sort of subterfuge, he can't help but feel this is a trap, so he tells the truth. "Ten minutes, sir."

Brittany leans towards Manato in a conspiratory manner. "Submissive, isn't he?"

Manato's face doesn't change.

"You'll have to go longer than that then." He pinches Manato's backside and pushes him at Haruhiro before retreating back within the room.

"Br-Brittany?" Manato's confidence cracks momentarily.

The commander returns to his chair. "Better make this show worth it, Haruhiro."

* * *

 _A/N: I lied. Four chapters, not three. Next chapter: the moment you've all been waiting for! IMPORTANT: everything Haruhiro does in the next chapter will be with his full consent. No rape._


	4. Chapter 4

"You can't be serious."

Manato remains a stationary barrier between the commander and Haruhiro, so Haruhiro follows his lead and doesn't follow Brittany into the bedroom.

Brittany dismissively waves a hand in Haruhiro's general direction. "I am most certainly serious. In lieu of having my night ruined by a peeping tom, why not incorporate him into the night's festivities? Oh, don't make that face at me, kitten. Why don't you ask your little Thief what he thinks? He's the one who followed you here, after all."

Manato hesitates, but eventually he turns to Haruhiro. Broad shoulders shield him from Brittany's piercing stare and illuminating moonlight. In the shadow of the older boy, Haruhiro feels safe.

"Haru," says Manato. Haruhiro shivers at the scratchiness in his leader's voice. "Haru, I never wanted you to see me like this."

Haruhiro blushes in shame; he had no right to pry into his leader's personal business and this situation is entirely his fault. He can't bring himself to meet Manato's eyes, so instead he stares at the clear line between Manato's pectorals. Sensing those pert nipples pressing into his shoulder blades is one thing, but actually _seeing_ them, seeing the effect of a teasing forefinger and thumb on them… Haruhiro shoves his hands under his butt to keep them from touching things not meant to be touched (…yet).

Manato abruptly wraps him in a hug. Oh. Right. Manato is still talking to him. He's adapted to interacting with Manato speaking from directly behind him, sitting in the tub together. Speaking face-to-face is slightly overwhelming. Speaking with a full view of Manato's body—

"—won't make you do anything you don't want to do," says Manato protectively. "I can take anything Brittany has in mind for me, don't you worry, but I won't let him do the same to you."

He could stay within Manato's arms like this forever, but the anxious quality of his leader's tone triggers a worry response in Haruhiro as well. He gently pushes Manato out to arm's length. "What does Brittany do to you?"

Manato smiles wearily. "Nothing I haven't already done before." He catches the confusion in Haruhiro's glance and elaborates, "In the life before this. My mind draws a blank, but my body knows the drill. Muscle memory."

Haruhiro hears this, but he was lost the moment Manato demonstrated _my body_ by sliding his hands down his torso. He recalls Manato atop those silken sheets, his hands drifting down his chest and abdominals. He imagines Brittany seated between Manato's spread legs, imagines Brittany licking his lips as he slides his hands up Manato's pale thighs—his imagination abruptly ends there because he doesn't want to think about what happens next.

"I don't want Brittany," he blurts, "to do things to you."

The body before him stiffens. His head is heavy and he can't look into his leader's face, so he continues to address the base of Manato's neck.

"You said before that you didn't think people treated you as a friend." He gulps. "Is this what you meant, Manato? Do you think others only saw you like this?"

Manato swallows. Just the bobbing of his Adam's apple makes Haruhiro's breath speed up and he has to force his eyes upward (because going downward is out of the question). Not quite to the eyes, because he can't bear to read Manato's expression yet. Just on his cheekbones. That's fine. His leader hasn't said anything yet. Manato knows he isn't finished speaking. Manato is that kind of person, so naturally empathetic that he can instantly read a situation and adapt. Loud Kikkawa, timid Shihoru, abrasive Ranta.

Sensual Brittany…

Haruhiro's mouth goes dry. Oh.

His leader's lips part; Haruhiro goes to head him off, "Let me! Let me… finish. I… Manato, I… I've only thought of you as a friend. The best friend anyone could have. Even someone like me." Wow, why does saying the truth like this have to be so embarrassing? He swallows again, willing some saliva to lubricate his sandpaper-dry throat. "You're my leader, Manato. You're our team healer and you take care of all of us even when we're not hunting goblins. I trust you with my life and I would do anything for you."

There. He said it. His face is so hot, his skin could start peeling any second now. He stares at Manato's cheekbones… which are turning red?

"Haru…"

Haruhiro's breath catches at Manato's rough tone. There's still some residual reluctance in his voice though. If this drags on any longer, Haruhiro's going to start overthinking this all over again. In desperation, he forces himself to make eye contact—to tell the absolute truth.

"You do so much for us. Please, Manato, let me be the one to care for you for once. I want to be the one providing for you. Please let me… let me love you." Something shifts in Manato's eyes and Haruhiro realizes what just came out of his mouth. He blushes and bows forward shamefully, eyes glued to the floor. "I mean! What I meant to say is! Please accept my help!"

Almost immediately, Manato pulls him up and into a crushing hug. Haruhiro's legs are not nearly ready enough to stand at this point (one's actually fallen asleep) and he practically pitches straight forward; Manato doesn't budge, easily carrying Haruhiro's dead weight until he can stand again. There's probably something symbolic in that, but pondering the meaning of life and what he's about to do becomes the last thing on his mind the moment his leader draws him from the darkened hallway straight into the stark white light of the moon.

He freezes the moment Brittany's pink eyes pierce the back of his head. For Manato he would do anything, he has to remind himself… but when someone's watching, even the tiniest of things becomes shamefully humiliating. He has to resist the urge to hide in Manato's shadow again as he's drawn down onto his knees.

"You said you wanted to take care of me," whispers Manato. Rose colors his cheeks as he presses his forehead into Haruhiro's. "Is that why you followed me here?"

Throat dry with nerves, Haruhiro can only nod. Slowly though—Manato's still so close that his eyelashes flutter against Haruhiro's when he blinks. For the first time, Haruhiro notices golden flecks in Manato's honey-brown irises. It would be awkward—it should be awkward with Brittany just a few feet away—but the alignment of their bodies, from their hips to their hands to their foreheads, is so intimate that Haruhiro can't really think about anything else but the heat of Manato against him.

"I don't know why your words make me feel the way I'm feeling, Haru." Manato chuckles and rolls his head upward, pausing when their noses touch. "Haru… I want you to love me."

What follows is only natural: Haruhiro tilts his head up just one more degree and presses their mouths together. Doubt clouds his mind instantly when Manato inhales sharply—and is instantly vaporized when the older boy surges forward, lips molding around Haruhiro's hungrily. Just before he topples over backwards, however, strong arms wrap around his torso and cradle the back of his head to draw him closer. He braces his hands against Manato's bare hipbones; his fingers cautiously explore the exposed skin, trailing into the dip of the lower back and the bump of the tailbone, but abandon the action when Manato's leg abruptly finds its way between his thighs.

His secondhand underwear becomes _really_ constricting in two seconds flat.

He feels more than sees Manato's smile against his mouth at the sensation of Haruhiro abruptly jutting into his leg. He definitely feels it when his leader mercilessly applies more pressure. His reedy whine never makes it to open air; Manato simply swallows the needy sound, soft lips engaging Haruhiro's with such fervor that Haruhiro will have to lean back soon and gasp for air, otherwise he'll spout a nosebleed if he keeps breathing so heavily through his nostrils like this…

Manato _laughs_.

Haruhiro breaks away indignantly (and sneaks in a lungful of oxygen). "Hey—"

He chokes on his cry when Manato presses a shoulder into Haruhiro's chest and actually tips him over backward. His brain doesn't have time to register the loss of balance, however, before a hand supports his upper back and gently lowers him to the futon. When all is done, a fully-clothed Haruhiro finds himself positioned underneath the unclothed body of his team leader.

Something's not right about this situation… He hesitantly tugs at the hem of his shirt but ceases the moment Manato drapes his body directly atop Haruhiro's. This isn't like Master Barbara's exercises at all—his sadistic teacher had focused the whole of her voluptuous body onto small surface areas across his chest and abdomen, forcing him to flex the muscles there to prevent his organs from being crushed. In this situation, Manato's weight is spread evenly across Haruhiro's torso. There is literally nothing between them—aside from his skintight gear. And his unbearably tight underwear.

"—beautiful."

"Eh?" Haruhiro gasps. His mind is focused on every single point of contact between him and Manato, which literally means his attention is spread pretty thin. Most of it is concentrated on relieving the pressure below his belt, which is nearly impossible when Manato's sitting directly on top of it. He has to be doing this on purpose. He's smiling beatifically and his eyes are bright, all normal expressions for his amazing leader; but, inches away from Manato's expression, Haruhiro wonders if he's imagining the slight smirk in the corner of Manato's lip and the simmering shadow behind his eyes. "What did you say?" he chokes in a lame attempt to regain some dignity.

Manato throws his head back, starting a sensual roll that shimmies its way down his torso and concludes in a hip thrust directly against the tension of Haruhiro's groin. Haruhiro's entire body practically seizes up in response; his spine arches off the silky blankets and his lungs forcefully expel their contents in a ragged moan.

"You're gorgeous, Haru," whispers Manato. He undulates his body against Haruhiro again, emphasizing each word with a rolling hip thrust.

"Manato," grunts Haruhiro. He can't help his body from shivering and convulsing every time his leader's member pounds against his tight pants. "Y-You're… mean."

Vibrations of rumbling laughter travel their way down the older boy's arm as he sneaks a hand under Haruhiro's shirt, pushing it up until it bunches up around his pectorals. Haruhiro willingly raises his arms but Manato does not proceed onward; instead, he pushes himself up until he's seated between Haruhiro's spread legs. Haruhiro's efforts to remove his shirt himself are stalled when Manato firmly grabs both hands and holds them down above his head. Even when his leader releases him, he keeps his arms cross at the wrist there as if bound by an invisible rope. A low whine to trickles out of his mouth at the restrictive position. "Manatooo…"

Gently, as if sewing delicate cloth together, Manato tugs at the leather string holding Haruhiro's pants around his waist. He hisses and raises his hips, eager to remove the restraining cloth; Manato complies, albeit rather slowly… and Haruhiro groans when Manato leaves his underwear on. The loose cotton is far less binding and permits Haruhiro to literally pitch a tent—in the silver glimmer of the moon, it's obvious his undergarments are secondhand by its dirty, off-white color. He flushes and draws his legs together as much as he can with Manato still sitting there.

"Don't be shy," his leader murmurs. He leans over Haruhiro again and brings their lips together briefly; then he begins to move downwards, suckling and kissing and tenderly biting the vulnerable flesh of Haruhiro's neck, chest, and stomach.

The urge to snap his legs together when Manato digs his nose into Haruhiro's covered length is barely overcome by the fact that he might actually hurt his leader that way. He wriggles with embarrassment when Manato inhales deeply; he hadn't bothered bathing before heading out to the tavern today, so likely the cloth is drenched in a full day's grit and sweat—

His legs spasm when Manato _mouths_ his cock through his underwear. He doesn't actually box Manato around the ears with his inner thighs, but he comes pretty close. A strangled yelp escapes his throat when Manato does it again, lips wetting cotton to dampen the heated skin beneath. He's lost his breath long ago, but with his hands tied, all he can do is stare down at his leader and gasp, open-mouthed, for air.

Manato's eyes flick back up to Haruhiro. He maintains eye contact as he returns to pressing his nose the base of Haruhiro's clothed cock, then drags his tongue from base to tip excruciatingly slowly. He swirls his tongue around the tip before returning it to its place behind pink lips. "You're so gorgeous like this," Manato murmurs straight into Haruhiro's last remaining garment. His fingertips graze along the waistband. "So beautiful."

Haruhiro can only whimper as Manato teases him. For a moment, he contemplates capturing Manato's arm between his legs, closing up and squeezing hard until Manato, he doesn't know, tickles him into releasing—but Manato's hands have descended to his backside and are finally easing the constricting cloth off his hips. Haruhiro barely has a chance to view his own length, darkened with a needy crimson flush, before the more experienced teenager promptly swallows it whole. He chokes when the tip of his cock presses into the spongy tissue in the back of Manato's throat and yelps at the warm wetness exposed to cool air when Manato withdraws. His eyes search for something to slaughter his overwhelming libido, yet instead catch the sight of stray strands of silky hair freeing themselves from Manato's sweaty forehead as he bobs up and down with vigor. Some sort of dark shameless is gradually taking precedence over the light in Manato's eyes.

He arcs his back and lifts his head and moans as Manato leaves sloppy kisses all over his groin. He cries out—swallows his cry—whines through closed lips. He squeezes his eyes shut because the sight of his leader gagging on him whole, combined with the undulation of his springy throat muscles, is almost too much to bear. If his leader keeps this up—

Manato surfaces with an obscenely wet slurp. Trails of saliva mixed with precum dribble down his balls and onto Manato's hand. Haruhiro bites back a strangled gasp when sticky fingers tug and tease at his sac. "You're so quiet," Manato grins, giving him another playful jerk. "Tell me what you're feeling, Haru."

He's horribly ashamed at the first word that comes out of his mouth. "So c-close…"

His leader appropriately bursts into laughter. He then inappropriately proceeds to wrap his lips around a testicle, suckling and suctioning and drawing it away from the rest of Haruhiro's body. He releases it just as the sensation borders on pain. Haruhiro yelps in surprise as the part snaps back with a moist slap and yelps again when the tip of Manato's tongue thrusts and spreads itself out on his taint. From there, the older boy lasciviously licks his way back up until he literally smacks himself in the face with the underside Haruhiro's length; he proceeds to nudge it around with his nose until it rebounds and slaps him in the cheek. In the pale luminescence of midnight, Manato's milky white face contrasts starkly with Haruhiro's bouncing, blood-flushed member; the sight of his leader inflicting phallus-shaped imprints on his own glowing features would be comical if Haruhiro isn't currently incredibly horny.

"Ahh!" He slings his arms over his eyes and cringes. Never mind the arousing scene being burned into his memory forever… watching it live for another two seconds would send him past the point of no return. He's toeing the line even now, even with his eyes squeezed shut, because he can just picture what Manato would look like with strings of white draped over his face nonono not now _not yet_.

Not yet.

How long has it been since he vowed to help his leader? Haruhiro had followed Manato all the way to the edge of Altana because out of everybody in their team, only he had realized their leader sacrificed a lot for the sake of the group—healing on the battlefield, gathering information at Shelly's to the point of whoring himself. Haruhiro had followed because he wanted to give back anything and everything to his stupidly sacrificial friend. But despite all that, despite having sworn to return that love not five or ten minutes ago, they're back at square one: Manato is servicing him. Haruhiro is the only one receiving pleasure currently; it's obvious that Manato is nowhere near as stimulated as he is.

"Haru?"

Master Barbara would not approve of his current reaction time. He's not even aware that Manato has moved until he unwraps his arms from his face and finds his leader literally in front of him: pupils blown wide with lust, lips bright and puffy and swollen, and breath tinged with salt and sweat washing over his cheekbones. There'd been a tinge of uncertainty in the earlier inquiry; Haruhiro forces himself to meet his leader's gaze.

 _Give back._

He doesn't know what to say. How does one squeeze down an entire mind's sentiment into a few bite-sized words? _Let me care for you. Let me provide for you. Let me—_

Hesitantly, he curls fingers around the back of Manato's neck. His leader shifts in surprise but acquiesces easily, easing downward until their lips connect gently once, twice. He tastes like salt and unidentified fluids and tenderness, as strange a combination that is. On the third contact, Haruhiro braces his other hand against the silky blankets and pushes. Manato grunts in disbelief but immediately submits, rolling over until he's the one splayed on his back with Haruhiro over him.

Manato gazes at him through half-lidded eyes. "Haruhiro…"

Removing the rest of his wrinkled shirt, Haruhiro lowers his hips until his cock, still slathered in lubricating spittle, meets the junction of Manato's legs. A thrill races through his body when Manato hisses " _Yes_ " and digs his fingers into Haruhiro's back needily. He imitates his leader's earlier actions by pressing his lips to the flesh at the base of Manato's ear. There's barely-bridled energy thrumming underneath his fingertips; Manato barely seems to be keeping himself together. This. This response to even the simplest of touches confirms Haruhiro's plan of action, uncertain and unexperienced as he is. He's going to do this.

He bites down gently on Manato's earlobe and relishes the responding _"Fuck_ " (whatever that word means) before injecting as much love and compassion as he can into his whisper.

"Let me be the one to love you."

* * *

 _A/N: fuuuuck yessss moaaaar sexxxx whyyy notttt_

 _shy dom!Haru_

 _knowledgeable sub!Manato_

 _Because transforming the extra epilogue I had planned into its own chapter works really well. Originally this was going to be the last smut chapter (with dominant bottom Manato) and the plot-only epilogue would tie the rest of the story in with canon; but this is the most smut I've written in a long while and it's been a month since the last update, so the_ _ **Sexy**_ _ **Chapter of SEX**_ _was split in two._

 _Will there still be an epilogue?_

 _Yes._

 _Will there be more_ _ **Haruhiro**_ _x_ _ **Manato**_ _love than you could ask for?_

 _Fuck yes._

 _Stay tuned._

 _(_ _Now cross-posted onto **Archive Of Our Own**!)_


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